Viper 1-1, on standby.

42: Pride

Shit! - Larissa "la gentile signora" Blackmore

Larissa PoV:

Directly in front of me sat a chess board and across from me, my most trusted guard sat, rubbing his scalp with his knuckles as he attempted to get out of a blunder checkmate. My thoughts weren't entirely on the game, though, because in less than three hours, a private plane would be commissioned from Australia to Tokyo where I would be surrounded by my security detail to go through the botched deal that had taken place hours ago, hopefully with a more positive outcome.

Everything had been perfectly arranged, and I knew there would be no mistakes. Along with my loyal bodyguards on the plane with me, White Masks, who would have possession of a nineteen-digit code, would meet with us upon landing. We would then go into a resort cabin on a private Japanese island.

My thoughts had been silenced by my superior, Blazkovicjh, bursting through the door. Me and my guard jumped up to our feet, almost knocking down the coffee table. The Vietnamese American native then said something in his language.

Blazkovicjh: "Bùláikè mò ěr! Qù jiǎnbào shì, xiànzài!" He then left, and I turned to my guard, who doubled as my translator.

Blackmore S-1: "I think he said something about briefings." He then walked to the inside-facing window and opened the blinds, uncovering a view of the large base. "Yes, superiors are rushing to the briefing room." I thanked him and then jogged through the base to the briefing room, and thankfully, as always, arrived before my superior.

While we waited on my superior Blazkovicjh, who was better known as "Insomnia" or as just Ryan, I studied the room and took a good look at everyone there.

I noticed his elder brother, Dylan "刽子手" Blazkovicjh, who was much more methodical and organized than his brother, was fidgety and taking glances around him. Strange.

When I switched my focus to across the table, I saw one of my colleagues, another buchon, Irya "Ochránce" Westolia. Hailing from Italy, she had blonde hair, which I envied, and led the fabled 1st Paratrooper Squadron, the Delta Force of Radioactive. She took on a relaxed state and had her helmet on. She had been the one who suggested we partner with the White Masks to pull off the attacks on the great countries. Now, less than one month later, the White Masks had been torn up, and our entire 9th Regiment was destroyed. One of the buchons had fled during the mess.

Next to her sat Aleksander "Мистер. чистый" Tooele, who, although one of our best 'scene disposers', feared for his life constantly and had the exact opposite stature of Westolia, looking so jumpy that even the sound of a jet could send him dashing out of the room.

Opposite him was Vlad "Krankzinnig mens" Polina, a man who was rarely seen without some form of face cover. He wasn't equipped with a face cover today, and I finally got to see his face. His face was ridden with blemishes, scars, and burns, but he still managed to look somewhat appealing to me.

Across from me stood Maysun Botros, also known as "The Glutton." He was the tallest person in the entire organization as far as I knew, at a whopping 190 lbs of pure muscle. The rest of his 290 lbs was fat. He had his minigun, "Sasha," which no one could touch but him, lying in his lap.

Talking to him was Alena "Bella" Julia. She was dating the boss, "El Mæṣtròm", and her beauty was unmatched, making the job of our propaganda manager less of an obligation and more of something that came easy.

The missing Blazkovicjh then ran into the room and began rambling in Vietnamese.

Insomnia: "Chúng tôi bị buộc tội! Viper đã tìm thấy chúng ta!" His brother ran to meet him and held him by his arms.

刽子手: "English, brother." The older brother ordered his younger brother as he pulled a chair for him to sit in. Ryan then sat down and began speaking in spotty English to the table.

Insomnia: "Are compromised. Viper." The entire table began stressing out.

刽子手: "Woah, woah. Brother, speak to me in Vietnamese."

Insomnia: "Trung đoàn trinh sát đã chết. Anh ta đã giết họ."

刽子手: "Recon Regiment is dead, the Viper murdered them," He translated.

"No sir, the Viper did not kill the Fifth Recon Regiment. It was from the botched deal." I corrected.

刽子手: "The one where the Second Infantry Platoon had been sent to do the deal between the masks?"

I nodded.

刽子手: "Thấy anh trai không? Bạn chỉ làm mọi người căng thẳng mà không có lý do. Rời khỏi." Clearly disappointed at his brother's antics, the elder Blazkovicjh rushed his younger brother out of the room. He said something in Vietnamese that I could not understand and then faced us.

刽子手: "Đồ ngu. At least we're all in a room together now. Listen, after Torres pussied during the operation, I will be sacrificing one of my underbosses to assist my ngu ngốc chết tiệt brother. Ochránce, you will now be protecting my brother. You are now under his directive. Also, it hurts me to say this, but... We are losing men inexplicably. We know Rainbow has pulled out of Australia through our informant, but I fear my brother is somewhat correct on our situation. There seems to be an opposing force of twenty-strong that is destroying our influence. He turned his eyes to the beauty queen and spoke in a soft voice. Do not hold rallies or start riots for the next nine months. This is an order from El Mæṣtròm himself. Giữ an toàn, các bạn của tôi. It might be our best shot at all of us leaving Australia alive." He ended his sentence by rolling his final word and slamming his fist on the table. He then left, leaving a small dent.

Everyone began leaving the briefing room until I was the only one left. After I knew I was the final person, I started walking out of the room, and then a loud-ass alarm started blaring.

INTERCOM: "THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL. HOSTILES LAST SPOTTED IN THE VACANT OFFICE. HOSTILES IN THE AREA."

John? I thought to myself before rushing to the office. While everyone was busy entering through the doors, I used the opportunity to exit the building and reenter through the window. I held my Glock 19 up to the door, spotting a man wearing a trench-coat bleeding against the carpeted floor.

"Bryne!" I whispered. The masked man turned toward me and held his MP5 to my face. I put my hands up and crawled back as he shakily held his gun up towards me. I crawled toward him and began shooting towards the people who I had been ordering just some hours ago, and assisted Johnathan out of the window through use of a smoke grenade.

Bryne: "Who the fuck are you?" Bryne said as he stumbled out of the window.

"You wouldn't remember," I replied. I laid him down as I wrapped gauze around his bleeding leg, and once I was done, I covered him up with foliage and then let him rest as I reentered the building from the opposite entrance. Once I walked in, I felt my hand be pinned behind my back by an operative I had once been colleagues with.

Krankzinnig: "Mooie dame, waarom moet je mij dit laten doen?" I backhandedly smacked him and pulled out a detonator from my pocket. I fumbled with it before pushing down as hard as I could manage to detonate my entire office. Two of my loyal guards, Dahl and Hansen, began opening fire on the buchons before being eliminated. Their final actions had been defending me. The cold metal of a pole vibrated against the back of my head as I fainted. I awoke to being splashed with scorching hot water and found myself being held with my arms behind my backs. A lone chair stood in the middle of the room with a flimsy rope dangling around.

I had died before they had even gotten me to step on the chair.

1381 Words.